


In silence and imperceptibly

by MrsRoseraie



Series: Gerlion one-shots [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Canon - Book, M/M, One Shot Collection, this has nothing to do with tv series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:55:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22106659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsRoseraie/pseuds/MrsRoseraie
Summary: Art by Johix: johix.tumblr.com/post/168045283315/taking-a-break-from-everything-just-thinking
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Gerlion one-shots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1591240
Comments: 18
Kudos: 127





	1. A sunny day at Corvo Bianco

**Author's Note:**

> Art by Johix: johix.tumblr.com/post/168045283315/taking-a-break-from-everything-just-thinking

Geralt never liked castles. He thought they were too big so that they covered the view of the sea or mountains. He hated the fact that they had a complicated network of corridors that were easy to get lost in and which were supposed to be shortcuts to countless chambers, but in practice they extended the way to the destination. He did not like the fact that it was always cold from the stoned walls, and that in the spacious halls were draughts. He also hated the fact that every royal service consisted mainly of spikes, eavesdropping on each step. Geralt tolerated castles only when they hid in their cellars swollen monsters or ghostly princesses imprisoned for eternity in one of the numerous towers.

  
The first (and so far the only one) castle he started to like was the property of Duchess Anna Henrietta in Toussaint. The green and sunny hills, slopes and vineyards, and the red roofs of the towers and castles rising above it all, shining after the morning rain, made an impression even on him. He spent blissful weeks here, attending numerous court feasts and less official discussions at a richly pawned kitchen table. He participated in the great harvest festival, which lasted many days and during which the best wine flowed in streams. It seemed that in this duchy the sun never sets and people never stop smiling.

  
He had another reason to like the castle in Toussaint. He once received here the Corvo Bianco Winery as a thank you from Anna Henrietta. Of course, he never dreamed of anything other than his own quiet corner, but reality has surpassed his wildest expectations. Back in the day, if anyone even suggested that the witcher could become the owner of the winery, he would snort a laughter, considering it the beginning of a poor joke. Now he was enjoying the luxury of owning his own property. This was all the more convenient because Dandelion could visit him freely when he wanted, and Geralt could receive him in private.

  
And it was at this very moment that Geralt enjoyed this blessed opportunity of retreat. He felt the warm rays of the late afternoon sun on his naked back. In his nostrils he could smell the smells of resin and thyme that were spreading intensely throughout the greenhouse. He also sensed the delicate scent of camomile, which Dandelion used to rinse his hair. Currently, he was pushing his face into the cascade of golden curls flowing down on the shoulders of the poet, which was leaning against one of the arches on the side of the greenhouse. The brick arches were covered with majestic garden roses, and underneath them were growing pays of lupine.

  
Dandelion's cheeks took on the colour of freshly blossomed roses, as Geralt held in his hand a part of his body that was perfectly suited for holding. With a rough hand he was strocking the delicate skin, rubbing up and down. This caused Dandelion to moan sporadically from trained tenor to falsetto. Hearing this, Geralt started rubbing more vigorously until Dandelion started breathing hard. He had been waiting for this for so long and wanted it so much that now he did not intend to be gentle. How many nights did he spend lying on an empty mattress in one of Corvo Bianco's rooms, dreaming that Dandelion was right next to him and that the moans filling the alcove sounded like a nightingale's falsetto? 

\- We couldn't do it as befits... - gasped poet. - ...in your bed?

True, they could've, but a while ago, Geralt was in the process of showing the guest around his property and he hadn't shown him the alcove yet. Besides, when they crossed the threshold of the greenhouse and Geralt saw that the light filtered through the stained-glass windows in the roof created a rainbow nymb around Dandelion, it didn't take a minute, and he already had him in his arms. They started kissing, and then Geralt's shirt landed somewhere on one of the flowerbeds, and his pants around his ankles.

\- It's better here than in any of those cheap brothels you're visiting.

\- You're right. - Dandelion smiled, although he knew witcher couldn't see it. - Plus the service...

He did not manage to finish his sentence, because a muffled scream came out of his mouth, which echoed in the air filled with dense honey light.

\- I bet I wouldn't be able to find the words to describe it in a ballad. Unless...

He turned his face to Geralt and the witcher saw a cunning flash in his eyes.

\- You'll give me more material - he said, putting his slender hand firmly on his snow-white head and firmly pressing it.

Geralt did not protest. 

He knelt in purple lupines, which harmonized with the buffy sleeves of Dandelion's jacket. Fortunately, he didn't have to bother to unbutton the pants to get to the object of his interest. In front of his eyes he had only beamin, shiny skin, surprisingly smooth to the touch. With a firm hand pressure, he held the poet down when he immersed his nose in the golden spirals of soft fluff. These also smelled of chamomile.

Dandelion held still his hand on the witcher's head, but this time his fingers were firmly woven into his hair. The other hand rested on heated bricks, scratching their surface with his nails and two large rings, given to him by the Weasel.

\- This was much more suitable for a ballad. Do you have any rhyme for _golden_? - he asked, in a reverie, smoothing Geralt's hair.

Geralt naturally did not answer. He closed his eyelids, underneath which were dancing golden and red dots. He heard blood in his ears, or maybe it was the buzzing of bees? He didn't know. At that moment, all that mattered to him was the silky and an surprisingly muscular thighs, trembling under his fingers.  


\- Let's think - Dandelion did not give up, although he was having a hard time thinking clearly. - _your tongue sharp as a carp_... no, no, no, AH!

Dandelion trembled harder under Geralt's hands for the second time that day. And for the second time that day, Geralt had sticky hands that he wiped quickly into his abandoned shirt.

\- I don't know about poetry, but I think some cold fish wouldn't have led you to this state - the witcher snorted laughter.

\- Probably not - Dandelion sighed, fixing his clothes. - That's one of the things I have the White Wolf for. Shall we continue the tour?


	2. Wild flowers in winter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by Johix: https://johix.tumblr.com/post/189869368945/johix-johix-johix-johix-johix-a-small
> 
> Adding my old fic because I like recycling.

The clearing was filled to the brim with laughing people engaged in various activities typical for the summer festival. Geralt with difficulty squeezed his way through the rabble, limping every moment, stopped by a dancing procession or besieged by intrusive village girls. His shirt was sticking to his back unpleasantly, because the warmth of the night was intensified by bonfires shooting at the sky and warm bodies gathered in a clearing. He dreamt only of a pint of cold vodka and a quiet corner, in which he could drink it calmly, not bothered by anyone.

He came to Gulette for a short rest before continuing his expedition to Vengenberg, where he got an order for a wyvern prowling nearby the city. In the current situation, where his financial condition was more than fragile, he decided to rent a room in the inn of the industrial town of Guleta, guaranteeing a corresponding price. He knew very well that Vengenberg, which was monopolised by wizards, would not have bring such a luxury.

It was only when he came here that he realized that Belleteyn celebrations were taking place in the city. On the vast firm threshing floor, dozens of bonfires were burning, licking the starry sky with their flaming tongues. Hundreds of black silhouettes were moving between them, which, when illuminated, seemed to be flickering and airy like ghosts. There were also probably half a hundred different traders and merchants who offered various goods - from the common ones like bread with lard and pickled cucumber to the unusual ones like magic amulets and reliable aphrodisiacs. Moreover, the festival atmosphere attracted a lot of bards, singers, poets and other musicians hoping for a quick and lucrative income. Even if he didn't have a sensitive hearing, Geralt would easily catches the sound of the lute, the whining of the harmonics and the moaning squeal of the goose.

Finally, he spotted a slightly crooked stall with a striped canopy, which at first glance was the most besieged. He squeezed through a noisy group of young people, without saying a word, putting copper in front of a staller with a red nose. Its colour inevitably resulted from the fact that the stall was secretly consumed the alcoholic beverage.

He gained air and leaned to the bottom. Cold sowing was tearing his teeth apart, but that's what Geralt meant. He wiped tears from the corners of his eyes and showed Red Nose that he would drink one more quarters.

After the second dose even the crowd didn't disturb him anymore. The contours of the world blurred slightly, turning into a veritable blaze of colours and pulsating cacophony of sounds. He walked forward with no purpose, knowing that this state would not last long. After a while he reached a wooden scene set in the middle of the clearing.

\- And now, master Dandelion will perform!

At the sound of the words shouted from the platform, the crowd under the stage started to thicken, and the spectators who had been here earlier pushed forward. Geralt wanted to leave because he didn't want to listen to someone's groans too much, let alone give his last money to some street player. However, before he managed to withdraw, the crowd took on a wave like a tide, effectively immobilizing him. He cursed ugly under his nose, but was comforted by the thought that the effect of intoxication was not completely gone yet.

A young handsome blonde came onto the stage with grace, on whose view a large part of the audience gasped with admiration. Geralt thought that apart from the majority of female voices, he also heard a lot of male voices as well. The man, presented as Dandelion, was dressed in a loose linen tunic and held a lute in his right hand. Geralt did not know how to imagine a master of music, but what he had before his eyes certainly did not fit his imagination.

\- Hello, darlings! - The bard screamed, sitting on a stool. - Today I will give you a treat with the ballad „As Time Goes By”. I wish you pleasant listening.

With his slender fingers he took the griffin of the lute and pulled the strings with his right hand. Geralt did not know anything about music for a penny, but even he had to admit that the schmaltzy melody and the playing along with it harmonious voice filled with sweetness were worth listening to. The listened audience calmed down, looking at the master of musical magic with glittering eyes. Geralt thought that even the crickets and the tawny owls, knocking in the distance, were silent to listen.

When it was done, no one spoke until the sound of the last vibrating note. Everyone stood pensive under a dome of silent unity, which can only be obtained in such moments of sublime emotion.

Dandelion stood up and bowed low, almost touching his knees with his nose. His performance was lavishly rewarded with applause. People cheered in his honor and demanded an encore performance.

He threw the wreath at a crowd of squeaky girls who have been pushing under the stage. Geralt felt his shoes stumbled and elbows being stuck under his ribs. He turned around, but at the same time some hand pulled him by the scabbard. He rocked dangerously and then flopped hard on the ground. Now he saw dozens of pairs of eyes above him - in some there was grief, in some envy. He realized that this was due to a wreath of field flowers lying on his knees, in which poppies, cornflowers, chamomiles, but also dandelions were woven into them.

\- Who caught it, hm? - Dandelion jumped off the stage and the crowd immediately parted in front of him.

He went straight to Geralt, who managed to get up and stood there, holding the wreath in his hands.

\- Ah, so it's you - said to the witcher when he saw him. - Well, I must admit I did not expect it, but a deal is a deal.

\- Please, give it to someone else - Geralt grunted and lowered his eyes, suddenly confused.

\- No, absolutely not - said Dandelion. - A deal is a deal. I threw the wreath and you caught it. That's the order of the day.

He took a wreath from Geralt and decorated his white hair with it. They contrasted with them like flowers that suddenly sprung out of snow. Then he grabbed his hand and without turning around pulled him towards the forest on the edge of the clearing. When the tunic suddenly moved, it slipped off the poet's arm. Geralt pretended not to look at his exposed collarbone and shoulder covered with a delicate golden fluff, reminiscent of a ripe peach. Suddenly he wanted to bite into an exposed place to see if it really tastes lthe way it looks.

They found an isolated place, far away from the hustle and bustle and intrusive looks. Dandelion lay down on the grass and gestured for Geralt to join him.

Geralt saw his cheeky smile in the dark. However, he immediately disappeared when he put his face to him.

\- What’s your name? - he asked and added quickly - I may not believe in monogamy, but I like to know my lovers' names. For that matter, to make ballads in their honor.

Geralt didn't hesitate to answer.

\- Can I kiss you, Geralt of Rivia?

He did not answer. He simply moved his mouth to his mouth, completely shortening the distance between them. They were soft and, according to Geralt, very feminine. He put his hand on Dandelion’s neck and the golden curls slid between his fingers. It was wonderful to lie beneath a sky dotted with a myriad of stars, watching them from afar. Dandelion took off his tunic and threw it on the grass. Without waiting, he helped Geralt unlace his shirt with his slender fingers.

Geralt hadn't felt the warmth of burning bonfires for a long time, but only the warmth of a warm, slender body. And then he got even warmer at the bottom of his stomach when Dandelion embraced him with his thighs and pulled him to his hips. The Witcher's medallion began to jump rhythmically on his chest. Silence was broken by quiet, intermittent moans, like pins sticking in the belly of the sky hanging above them.

\- I will write a ballad about that night - panted Dandelion. - As the campfires were shooting high up, the sounds of music and laughter were spreading around, but you couldn't hear anything, too busy fucking me.

Geralt also didn't see anything, too busy checking if Dandelion's arm tastes like it looks like.


	3. In depths of The Brokilon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by Johix: https://johix.tumblr.com/post/185517801830/commission-for-xiilnek-we-all-love-and-appreciate

Brokilon has always been a mystery to Dandelion. This ancient forest resembled more like an ocean of trees, with its secrets and the darkness that wraps it even on sunny days. Just like the vast sea depths, it hid its unexplored inhabitants, and just as in the sea depths, careless wanderers died in it forever. When you were near a forest, you almost felt the supernatural energy emanating from it, which you did not feel in any other forest. As far as the eye could see, there was no human activity here. There were no traps set by hunters or fishermans. No one in their right mind was disturbing the habitat of the driads, whose sharp boltheads and fast arches were invisible in the forest thicket, but always aimed at those who dared to cross the Ribbon stream. 

Dandelion urgently stabbed the heels on the sides of the horse, which moved sluggishly, completely unaffected by what might have happened next. 

When he stopped at the edge of the forest, he was overwhelmed by a feeling of anxiety, which spilled out like a herd of slimy earthworms. He jumped off Pegasus, which was denying at the sight of an impenetrable wall of trees. He pulled horse by the trumpet, which he stopped every moment to pinch a clump of grass. Of course his name was not reflected in reality, but Dandelion insisted that since he is a poet he has the right to sit on a stallion with a romantic name. He tied the gelding to the trunk of one of the thin trees growing only on the edge of the forest. Next the trees were thicker and taller, with massive branches covering the sky and long roots reaching high above the bedding. Looking at the white frames of the horse's ribs, lying near his feet, he was not sure if the driads accepted animals from outside. He knew, however, that they absolutely did not accept any people, but he had no choice. Geralt was in need, and he was his only friend.

\- Don't worry. - He stroked the horse's neck with a calming gesture, knowing well that he was actually trying to calm himself down. - Nothing's going to happen to us. I'm masterful in driad rituals.

_Besides, Geralt is waiting for me._

Well, that wasn't quite true. Bcause Dandelion was certain that Geralt didn't expect anyone to care enough about him after what happend at Garstang. But Dandelion believed he needed a friend, and in this case he was his only hope. 

Dandelion took a deep breath, took a brave face, smoothed out his new olive cup and egret's feather, as always attached to a plum hat. 

When he was close enough to see the clearances between the trunks, he took the lute off his shoulder and strummed quietly for a test. He didn't hear or see any arrow flying towards him, he thought it was a good coin, so he decided to play more boldly, and soon the play was joined by singing. Dandelion always considered himself a master of Elder Speech, but he had to admit to himself that singing went much better than talking. Years of practice were doing their job, because his voice, which was trembling not so long ago, sounded loud and clear.

The moment he entered the trampled path winding into the wilderness, he was overwhelmed by the feeling that there was no turning back. The forest closed over him like the mouth of a big monster. He felt dozens of pairs of eyes on him as he slowly plunged into the damp green thicket. He was under the impression that with every step he took, flickering shadows were moving around him between the leaves. He wanted to call out Geralt, but was afraid to stop singing. He looked anxiously to the sides, looking out for stripped unpainted arrow bolts, knocked into nearby trunks. They were not there by accident, but were a clear warning: do not come any closer! Don't move any further! Get away from here, intruder! He almost heard the fury of the shots fired from hiding. With the eyes of his imagination he saw his belly, heart, throat and head piercing like a straw puppet, which he saw at archery competitions and fairs. What did the man feel when the arrow was knocked out? Pain? Strike? Or maybe... nothing?

\- Spare yourself, Dandelion.

Instead of the expected vibrating sound of the string and the knock of the bolthead hammering into the wood, he heard a familiar snoring voice. And probably the only male voice outside his own.

\- Geralt! - a poet breathed a sigh of relief.

\- Quiet, idiot. - he retorted but Dandelion heard a smile in his voice.

Now he saw him in full grace as he emerged from behind a clump of dense bushes. In a few steps, he covered the distance between them and closed Dandelion in a bearish embrace. 

\- Geralt, I heard those drunks already sharpened their teeth on me. I thought I wouldn't survive that.

\- You'd be surprised - Geralt smiled crooked. - They like your singing.

\- They do? - Dandelion blinked in disbelief.

\- Is there an arrow from your head?

Geralt tellingly put his finger on his mouth and turned towards the direction from which he came. Dandelion followed him quickly, trying to follow in his footsteps, because he knew that the driad's habitat was full of traps and only they knew where they were hidden. For ordinary mortals, there was no place here and they were reminded of this at every turn. 

They had already been walking in complete silence for some time, and Dandelion was beginning to be overwhelmed by questions that were pressing on his mouth, but it was Geralt who warned him. 

\- How did you find me?

\- From Triss Merigold... hell, how dark it was here - Dandelion tripped and would have fallen over, but Geralt held him up with a skillful grip.

Only now did he see in the twilight in front of them a slender drunkard, wearing a quiver shot hanging from his back. He thought she had green hair, but in that light almost everything seemed to be covered in a greenish mist.

*

\- It's cold here... and dark... - has mutilated for the once unknown which Dandelion. - Geralt, couldn't we light a fire?

\- No, we couldn't. The trees hate fire and so do they.

Dandelion wrapped his arms tighter and rubbed his elbows resigned. But maybe he wasn't as masterful in dryad rituals as he thought he was. The air was not very cold, but it was cold from the ground on which they sat. 

\- Tell me. - He heard Geralt's voice on his right.

Dandelion grunted and began to tell the story. There was no point in keeping the witcher in the uncertainty.

When he finished, he thought Geralt was asleep, but no. He just sat there very quietly, not moving an inch. Dandelion thought he was probably processing the information he had just heard. He was curious what was happening to his friend while they were separated, but he remained patiently silent.

The driads revolved around them, but left them enough free space so they would feel comfortable with their presence. Dandelion saw only blurred black silhouettes, seen only in the turquoise glow of flickering lanterns, made of moss and lichens.

Finally, Geralt started the story. He was telling the story of what Vilgefortz had done to him during their encounter in Garstang. Then his memory was failing, he remembered only the faint fragments of his stay at the Melitete's temple and the first days in Brokilon.

When he finished, none of them spoke. Only their steady breaths and distant crickets were heard. 

\- Geralt, I was so scared! - said poet in high voice. - I was so afraid that something so much worse had happened to you that I would never see you again, that... 

Words got stuck in his throat, and his chin started to tremble. A muffled weep broke out of his chest, and the long inhibited tears found an outlet on his cheeks. Dandelion did not turn his head to hide them, he had no habit of hiding his feelings.

Geralt felt as if something inside him had shrunk and disintegrated into millions pieces, like a dried flower squeezed in his fist.

He carefully moved to the poet and surrounded him with his arm. Pushing him tighter to himself, he rested his chin on his head, and then Dandelion hurled himself on his neck, still sobbing. Geralt didn't really know what else to do, so he sat there for a while without moving. Eventually, his hand started to smooth out Dandelion's trembling back.

\- Well, it's all right - he said, surprised how easy it was for him to say that. - I'm here.

Dandelion's back stopped trembling a little bit, and the sobbing turned into occasional sniffing. He slipped out of the witchers arms to look into his eyes, but he looked away.

\- Dandelion... - Geralt started seriously. - Believe it or not, I was the one who was terrified that I might never see any of you again. - He swallowed to wet his dry throat. - I was scared, I was really scared...

His voice broke down dangerously under the weight of this confession. Geralt helplessly let his head down, looking at his hand, whose fingers he clenched and stretched every now and then. Dandelion followed his sight and grabbed his rough, scarred hand. Under this impulse, Geralt hurled himself around poet's neck, pulling him by the waist and pushing his face into his breast. Geralt's back was trembling and Dandelion had the impression that he was crying but not.

 _Figures._ He thought. _Witchers never cry. Even the ones who have feelings._

\- Besides, you were mad to come here. The driads could've...

\- I know, I know - Said Dandelion, stroking a white-haired man over his head. - But I wanted to. I did it for you.

Something shrunk in Geralt's chest again, and then it exploded, increasing its volume more and more, until it finally found an outlet in a muffled sob.

\- Dandelion - he whispered. - Thank you.

Dandelion didn't answered. There were still many things he needed to say, but he didn't wanted to ruin the moment. Not now. Not now, when forest looked so beautiful and even more magical in luminescent light.

Not now, when The White Wolf have been lying in his arms with his chest open and beating heart showed to his eyes.


	4. School's out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Art by Johix: https://johix.tumblr.com/post/164878881565/dear-gods-master-dandelion-what-happened-to

\- You look ridiculous with that beard.

\- You with your beard, too, but I don't say that - said Dandelion. - Besides, I growed it out to get more serious in front of my students. You're gonna admit that it' s a good thing, right?

Geralt couldn't disagree with him. Dandelion had only a well-groomed beard, which, combined with a brazen smile, made him look ravishing. Now, a golden beard and shimmering like molten gold waves surrounded his handsome face, making him look almost like an ideal portrait. His noble features became serious, giving him the look of a count or a king. As long as Geralt can remember, Dandelion has always liked to wear himself as a noble man. He almost always wore purples, violets and wine reds, with tastefully matched lace or frills showing from underneath. His fingers always were sparkling from heavy rings with colourful stones.

\- I only hope it is not as scratchy as it looks - the witcher muttered, taking Dandelion's face in both hands and kissing him deeply.

The poet enthusiastically returned the kiss. His impatient hands began to look for straps of Geralt's leather pants. 

\- Take off your clothes - he whispered between the kisses.

The silver strands mixed with the gold ones when they fell on a huge bed in an alcove, which the poet rented.

\- What about you?

\- I don't have much time to get dressed again - explained Dandelion. - The lecture, remember?

Geralt didn't say a word, but he obediently took off his clothes. Now he pressed every inch of his naked body against Dandelion's. Often, when they were lying on the mattress together, during their wanderings together, Geralt wanted to rip off his clothes from Glaucoma, but he never wanted it as much as he does now. However, he stopped himself, following his orders.

He couldn't help but kiss every part of Dandelion's face. He pulled his lips away from his mouth just to move them to the temple, eyelid, ear, corner of the mouth, neck. He stopped here to suck the spot right over his collarbone. It made Dandelionturn his eyes over and sigh with delight.

\- Geralt! If my students see it, they won't let me live!

\- Let them just try - said the witcher. - Let them just try, and they'll have to count with me.

Geralt felt as the cool satin moved between his legs. Every touch was a pleasant shiver down his spine. He wasn't sure how much longer he could hold out before Dandelion had to wash his clothes. 

\- Master Dandelion... - he murmured into the hollow of the poet's swan neck. - I don't mean to be rude, but time is of the essence.

To these words Dandelion rose to his elbows and gave Geralt his famous brazen smile. 

\- I value my time, so fortunately I know how to use it - he said, pointing his hand in front of him. - Sit down on the edge of the bed, please.

Geralt obediently slid his feet on the cold floor. A moment later he looked in modre with his eyes sparkling, watching him from between his knees. He sucked the with a whistle as he dipped into the hot moisture between the rim of his soft lips. He couldn't adjust his breath as tongue moved backwards and forwards, occasionally wrapping him tightly like a glove on the hand. He threw his head back because he didn't wanted to focus only on the curtain of golden eyelashes, which he saw between his legs. He confidently wrapped the fingers of one hand in soft curls, while the fingers of the other were clenched rhythmically on the sheet.

\- Master... - Geralt already felt shivers in his lower abdomen, which spread up and started tingling in his nipples.

Dandelion purred with pleasure and speeded up the movements a bit. He did not hear the witcher scream because his ears were covered by strong thighs. Geralt was still trembling a little bit when Dandelion got up from his knees, looking for a lace handkerchief in his pockets.

\- Now I really have to go. - said Dandelion firmly. - My students...

\- They will survive - replied Geralt, pulling him closer. - Before you start talking about dissonance and consonance, we'll manage to do one more thing - he smiled insolently, putting the poet back on the bed.

They still had plenty of time.


	5. I would rather be blind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Art by Johix: https://johix.tumblr.com/post/189917767305/yay-its-finished-i-really-really-need-smth-like

\- What are you doing here, now that we finally have the luxury of sleeping in separate beds? - asked Geralt, raising his eyebrow in a surprise.

The sight of the poet at such a late hour surprised him immensely. He thought that a hedonist like Dandelion would not exchange a silk bed with a beautiful woman lying in it for anything in the world.

Dandelion leaned against the doorframe and his usual brazen smile appeared on his lips.

\- Because, although a bed with a woman is a great happiness... - he took a few steps to stand in front of the witcher - a bed with you is a happiness twice over.

He threw his arms around Geralt's neck before he could react. Their lips met halfway, tearing out a the silence with a silent moan, which escaped someone's lips. Every moment they deepened their questioning kiss, like people taking uncertain steps on a frozen lake. 

\- What does your Weasel say? - asked the witcher, breaking the kiss.

Dandelion shrugged.

\- You were right, she is like a spoiled child. I was with her out of boredom and because my mother would have been happy... - he stopped. - I don't really know why I'm telling you this. I guess I just took your advice to heart.

\- I thought you didn't care what I was thinking, Geralt said quietly.

The poet sighed and embraced him harder, dipping his face into his collarbone. For a moment he inhaled only the pleasant smell of waxed skin, smoke and hay, so characteristic of Geralt. He picked up his head to look him in the eyes, but the witcher avoided his gaze.

\- Of course I care, silly.

They finally did it. They did it carefully and quietly so they wouldn't wake up the rest of the castle. They approached each other in a whole new way, and yet, as always, only this time without using words. Geralt thought that maybe it was better this way, because in his opinion, words made everything more complicated. Although they spoke the same language, there was an ocean of misunderstatements between them. But now they understood each other without words. They instinctively felt their desires and the change in behaviour. 

And although he knew that even before the morning sun would set on them, the bottomless ocean would return between them, he wanted to be satisfied with this short moment of complete understanding. He wanted to absorb this state from every second of the act to engrave it in his memory and be able to enjoy it longer. 

*

Outside the window the sun was already rising, slowly flooding everything with a golden glow. Dandelion reached for the lute and twisted the pegs. He started to pamper the strings lazyly, until the alcove was filled with a rippling buzz. Apparently, not being satisfied with the sound of the instrument yet, he adjusted the pins again. 

\- I'm still looking for the right melody for my ballad.

The strings under his fingers were murmuring like a stream flowing over stones.

Geralt watched as the rays illuminated Dandelion's hair, creating a golden halo around his head. He looked like an oasis of tranquillity, sitting so focused, completely naked, covered only partially with his lute. The radiant glow that illuminated him brought Geralt to mind the golden fields of ripe wheat or sunflowers. 

He turned to him and supported himself on his elbow so that he could get a better look at him, although it was not necessary, because as the witcher he saw more details anyway. He saw, for example, the wonderfully carved lips and the tongue covering the lower lip, every time when Dandelion was whispering the text of the ballad. He saw a slightly cracked, milk-white tooth, visible under the moustache. He saw a tiny mark after the earring in the lobe of his right ear. He also saw how Dandelion frowned his eyebrows and bent the little finger of his hand held on the neck of the lute when he hit the false tone.

Suddenly, Dandelion stopped playing and gave the witcher meaningful look.

Geralt silently moved closer to take the poet in his arms. He began to sprinkle kisses on his slender neck. He sensed with his lips a delicate fluff covering her back. Then he went down to do the same with his freckle-covered shoulders. He tried to be as gentle as possible so that the rough beard did not scratch the delicate skin.

\- You know, Geralt - Dandelion sighed. - I can't believe I'm saying this, but I've always dreamt about it. And you haven't?

The witcher was silent. He didn't have to answer because he knew that Dandelion could easily figure out his silence.

The sun was rising over Beauclair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be light and with a hint of humour but turned out wistfully, oh well.


	6. A helping hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Art by Johix: https://64.media.tumblr.com/cfe3a03e26182b375568c6b8ced574ed/3c9d63ee8ae5450d-f3/s500x750/a46194cbbedc3cbc895cea53dedee3bfa8102b56.png

Dandelion took a long sip of vodka, squinted his eyes and sighed.

\- Are you in despair again over your witcher's fate? And what's more, you're philosophizing about the fact that the world is changing and people are terrible to each other. You haven't come up with anything revealing, and you don't have to whine with the philosopher's face that the sun sets and the vodka ends.

Geralt stuck to the edge of the bed, squeezing the vodka jug in his hand, looking smaller and younger at this point. He silently pulled the vodka jug, deliberately avoiding the poet's penetrating gaze.

\- I hate it when you feel sorry for yourself. This is not how I know you - said the poet, jumping from his place on a stool, standing by a bookcase filled with books.

Slowly, carefully, with unprecedented hesitation, Dandelion rested his knee on the edge of a big bed. Geralt looked at him with such a big surprise, that Dandelion felt pressure in his stomach, but he did not go back. Without hearing any objection from the witcher, he climbed on him, embracing his thighs with his. He took the jug out of Geralt's hand and put it carefully on the windowsill. He braided his fingers with his bony toes and immobilized his hands on a pillow, on both sides of his head. 

\- Can I kiss you?

Geralt blinked in surprise, but did not answer, only raised his head from the pillow, expressing his readiness to kiss.

Dandelion leaned forward to drag his tongue over his lips, licking the last drops of alcohol from them. He felt how his tongue tasted of plum and the white hairs muslinking on his face smelled of hay.  
They still didn't parted their lips and Dandelion felt that the dizziness caused by alcohol was increasing a little bit. Suddenly he felt a leg bent between his knees. The leather rubbed itself against the velvet, causing a murmur of satisfaction from Dandelion.

The poet quickly got rid of his closet and sat back on Geralt's stomach, who from his perspective could now admire him in full glory. In the candlelight his breast looked hard and shiny, like cast in brass. Geralt's hands rested on the sides of the poet, slowly examining smooth skin.   
Dandelion reached between his thighs and started to rub his half-hard, dripping cock with anticipation. He slowly moved his hand along the whole length, stopping for a moment on the pink tip. Geralt watched as it was shining moisture in the candlelight. The poet noticed his gaze and lifted his chin a bit with his slender fingers.

\- Look at me.

Geralt widened his pupils and moved his eyes to the blushing face of Dandelion. Neither alcohol nor erotic excitement could cause witcher blush, but Dandelion's cheeks took on the color of ripe poppies. His eyes were shining like two sapphires underneath the clumped hair. His lips were open and quiet gasps were coming out from between them. A staggeringly slippery trickle dripping from between his fingers left a sticky mark on witcher's stomach. Geralt unwittingly lifted his hips, impatiently demanding more.

Dandelion felt the shiver that was taking over his body. He could barely feel Geralt sticking his fingers into his trembling thighs and was grateful to him for that because he felt he could not support himself. He also felt the smooth surface of his leather pants rubbing against his buttocks. He moaned when he suddenly felt a finger between them. Geralt experimentally slid it deep into the last knuckle in order to catch with his sensitive ears how the trained tenor turned into a broken falsetto. 

\- Oh yes... ooooh - Dandelion moaned, feeling as he was making slow, circular movements, massaging its interior, which responded to the caress with pleasant cramps.

Not wanting to be indebted, he unlaced Geralt's pants with his free hand and without hesitation squeezed their cocks together, for which he was rewarded with a murmur of pleasure. He discovered with satisfaction that the witcher was dripping as much as he was, which made it much easier for him.

Suddenly Geralt slipped his second finger right next to the first one, bending it upwards in search of a sensitive spot. He started to move them faster than the first time. Dandelion had the impression that his heart would immediately jump out of his chest and his cheeks would gush with blood. He could no longer stop the pitiful noises coming out of his throat. He started to involuntarily move his hips back and forth, feeling like he was climbing up the desired climax with every push. With desperation, he clung himself with his free hand into Geralt's hair, only to become convinced that he was still in the material world. And when he was about to give way to his fulfilment, he felt Geralt slip out of him.

He moaned frustrated, feeling a sudden emptiness with every nerve.

\- Geralt... - he hissed through his clenched teeth.

The witcher sent him a wide smile and entered him again.

The poet felt pleasant cramps in his lower abdomen, which spread on his inside in the rhytm of a heartbeat. He felt the impulse to stop Geralt, but his mind and body were at two opposite poles and between them the pleasure triumphed over everything else. Finally, Dandelion sighed loudly, releasing the accumulated tension in spasms, and after a while Geralt joined him. The fruit of their pleasure landed on the witcher's stomach and breast, mixing with sweat covering his body. For a while he was catching his breath, feeling the consciousness returning to him.

\- I hope you feel better - spitted Dandelion, with his typical brazen smile.

Geralt did not have to answer.


	7. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Art by Johix: https://64.media.tumblr.com/1e2c78ec4ed1b4988036bcbed00d4e92/tumblr_phsn92xJnW1rh7rtro1_500.png

Dandelion came back late in the evening to the room in the attic of the inn, which he shared with Geralt. He hung a lute and a doublet on a peg, took off his shoes and then threw himself onto the mattress next to the sleeping witcher. He was about to close his eyes as he was really tired after a day-long journey when he heard a voice in the dark:

\- I didn't think you would come back for the night.

\- And why shouldn't I - Dandelion turned towards Geralt's back - not come back?

\- I saw the looks you and that plump innkeeper's daughter exchanged.

\- Goldilocks? - Dandelion snorted with laughter. - After all, it is still a child. There is nothing of a real woman in her. The innkeeper would have ripped my legs out of my ass if I had touched her.

Geralt did not answer, and his telling silence sowed a grain of doubt in Dandelion. He remembered that the witcher was asking him such questions more and more often, and Dandelion could not realize where their cause lay. The witcher behaved at least suspiciously, making the poet feel remorseful about their relationship. He wondered if he hadn't made something by accident that could offend him. This would not be the first time that Dandelion felt he did not fulfill his commitments to their friendship, even without realizing it. He wondered whether it was as a result of another such situation that Geralt became more distanced than usual, which was almost cold. Everyone who stood the witcher's way for the first time had such an impression, but Dandelion knew him well and knew that such behavior was not natural for him in the long run.

Recently he also noticed that his feeling for Geralt had also changed in his own way and Dandelion did not know what to do with it. He remembered how one exceptionally serene evening they were sitting by the fire and talking about everything and nothing when suddenly he almost leaned over and kissed Geralt. He stopped and the moment passed. Since then, such an impulse has been bothering him several times.

It started to bother him. Not because Geralt was a man, because Dandelion had already had sex with men, like all his friends from Oxenfurt. Not that he did not feel a quiet attraction to the witcher, more or less like to many, in his opinion, interesting men. He was worried because he knew that if he tried something, he had to be absolutely sure of it, because he knew Geralt well enough to know that he did not treat anything lightly. Well, maybe the only exception to this rule was sex, because not once they were in brothels together and not once did Geralt come back to their common room for the night. However, feelings were another issue that the witch (Dandelion was sure of) took completely seriously.

He did nothing and said nothing. In the following months he was dating girls, but something in his heart did not allow him to enjoy these meetings as he used to. Yes, he enjoyed them, but it was short-lived, like a fleeting lipstick in one evening, leaving a sweet taste on his mouth and nothing else. Dandelion has always known that he wasn't created for constant monogamy and his conviction in this respect hasn't changed, but his feelings towards the witcher are already there. It would be much easier if he did not experience these feelings. Everyone experienced feelings that he or she did not put into practice, knowing how complicated life would be.

Dandelion, with all his impertinence, would never have thought he could be with Geralt. Of course, not in the long run, because Dandelion had a permanent relationship with deep contempt, but the very fact of the appearance of such a thought fills him with concern. Besides, he wanted Geralt to be happy in the relationship. He never understood the witcher's love for cold sorcerers, so he imagined at his side some beautiful and delicate girl, intelligent and sensitive, who would not break his heart. Somewhere deep in his mind, he realized that these were sentimental and naive dreams, because he knew him like an evil sorcerer and knew that he would not last long in such a relationship. He would probably escape from his beloved's bed in the morning, leaving a flower on her table and a leaf rushed off. The poor girl would be heartbroken and Geralt would walk like strings for weeks to come. However, he was not a dream partner for him and he knew very well that the witch had too much taste in cold-blooded sorcerers.

But the feeling did not go away. At night, when he was lying next to Geralt on an uncomfortable mattress, he was lying awake and looking at the witch asleep. How easy it would be, he thought to himself, just reach out his hands towards him and embrace his scarred back. How easy it would have been to shift a little bit, to hold his hands at his waist, so as to cling to him with his whole body. Just cuddle his face in his white hair and fall asleep. He sensed almost an element of destiny in this and it seemed absurd to him not the idea itself, but his persistence. Well, since when did he, a master of poetry and the art of loving, have scruples before admitting his feelings to someone and to himself?

That night he was also lying still next to a sleeping witcher. He was staring at the candle stubs that were fading in the corner, struggling with himself in his thoughts over the rightness of his actions. He knew that these short moments spent with Geralt were not given to him once and for all. He tried to pretend in front of himself that he was wrong, that he was wrong as usual, but deep down he was sure.

He knew that he would not fall asleep until the sun would rise, because he preferred to use this time to stare at his calm face and listen to his even breath. He knew that one morning each one of them would go away in a different direction, so he might as well have had some luck for himself. _Something ends, something begins,_ he thought, turning on his back. _What an irony - how can something that shouldn't have any reason to end? Has something ever started between us?_

Dandelion preferred to think no. It was more comfortable this way, he didn't bother with it, it didn't weigh on his heart. After all, their paths had to cross sooner or later and maybe when they meet again then they will be sure.


End file.
